


Plastic Beach

by heartlover



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Murdoc gets the shit kicked out of him and deserves it, Phase Three (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 19:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartlover/pseuds/heartlover
Summary: Phase 3: Wobble StreetNoodle moves in to Wobble Street. 2D hasn't seen her in a long time, and there's so much to talk about.And none of it good.Set before new-canon information.





	1. Chapter 1

It was nice, seeing Noodle again.

She stood in the living room, bent over a small suitcase and surrounded by the grime that the two boys had collected since they moved in.  It didn’t seem to bother her—not that it ever had—and she had even started to add it, as 2D could see odd wrapped belongings strewn over the carpeted floor. When 2D had managed to find him, he and Murdoc set up the bedrooms as best they could with the furniture that Murdoc had bought to replace the things lost in the Kong Studio fire.  Noodle’s room was already full; all of her Japanese decorations and toys and weird trinkets she liked to keep on her bed were there waiting for her.  She hadn’t had time to make a bag before the El Mañana incident, he didn’t think, so 2D wasn’t sure what she had in her packing.  It had been years, after all.

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Personality-wise, Noodle didn’t seem to change much.  She still smiled the same and spoke the same and laughed the same when you tickled her on the side, but now, 2D noticed, she was a woman.  Twenty-two, she had said.  (2D had forgotten her birthday, because how long had she been gone?  When was the last time he could remember simple things like birthdays without wincing at how much time had passed, him, alone, with nothing but an empty calendar?)   She carried herself differently and her words were heavier.  Like everything she said meant something so much more. 

She was still Noodle, but now she was big, beautiful, grown-up-woman Noodle.  It was an odd thing to think about.

And it wasn’t as if 2D hadn’t aged, either.  He would look at himself in the mirror and see creases on his forehead and hair on his lip, skin a greying pallor that had grown gaunt against his cheekbones.  Usually he’d brush it off—he could still hear Murdoc referring to him as “the pretty boy” during his radio show from time to time, and though it was usually a waved-off side comment, it was reassuring—but when he saw her for the first time after the attack, it was like he could feel his age in his clawing at his chest.  

Everything had come back together.  The chaos was reigned in and sent back to the cages of whence it came, but it was different.  Everything was different.

He didn’t want to think about that, though.  For now, he was just glad to see her.

Noodle shifted and saw 2D staring, flashing him a smile and straightening back up.  She even had the same haircut, but choppier, like she had cut it herself with a pocket knife without a mirror.

“Hey, 2D.”  She said, and he grinned at the little drawl she always put on the “two.” _Tooooo-Dee._ He remembered teaching her how to say it, back before she could speak English.

“Hello.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over, glancing at the brown-wrapped parcels curiously.  “Er, what’er you doing?”

“Unpacking.”  She reached down and grabbed what looked like a bundle of shirts, all with price-tag stickers lining the sides.  She must have run out of clothes while drifting at sea.

_Drifting at sea._

“...D’you need help?”  2D bent his knees and reached for one of the brown things, but Noodle kicked it away with such force that he flinched, instinctively shielding his face with bony forearms.

“Don’t touch those.”  He looked up and saw Noodle standing over him, looking more guarded than actually angry.  “It’s classified.”

“Oh.” 2D stood again and Noodle kept unpacking, looking up with a pair of shoes in her hand when she saw his legs twitch out of the corner of her eye.

“Everything okay, 2D?”  She asked him, and he looked at her for a moment, somewhat surprised at the question. 

“Well, I just…” He trailed off and saw her brow quirk.  His stomach twisted, instantly regretting approaching her in the first place. But he did have a reason, and through the nerves, he continued.  “…I missed you, y’know?  Y-you’ve all been gone for so long, and we didn’t- I didn’t know if-if you’d gone’n died or anyfing, so…”

His eyes flicked to her, nervous, but he relaxed the instant he saw her lips part in a smile.  Noodle slid her suitcase to the side and wrapped her slender arms around his waist, pressing her face flat on his chest, not any taller than when she left.

“I missed you too, Toochie.”  She said, and 2D felt his heart ache a little as he held her close and let the warmth seep into his skin.  The room was still for a long while, and eventually 2D glanced down at her, noticing that her ear was pressed hard to the left side of his chest.  Did he really look that bad?  Was he really so dead in the face that she had to check if his heart was still beating?  She looked so worried, as well, did she already know-?

She pulled away and 2D made a quick smile, following her as she shoved a pile of newspapers off the couch so they could sit.  Noodle leaned back, her arms folded critically, and watched as the singer settled down next to her and readjusted his lanky legs.

“How are you?”  She asked, but the way she said it, so light and casual, made 2D think there was more to the question than she was letting on.  Of course, he couldn’t place what, so he just shrugged in response and averted his eyes to his lap.

“I’m alright.” He said.  Noodle narrowed her eyes, and 2D felt like he had been caught red-handed.  Which was silly, because he wasn’t doing anything, was he?

“You have seemed… different.”  Her eyes twinkled, and a knowing look spread across her face.  “Tell me, what have you been up to while we were gone?”

2D blinked at her blankly.  “Didn’t Murdoc tell you?  After the- after you and Russel went missing, we-”

“I know all about the Plastic Beach.”  He watched her eyes sharpen a bit, and he furrowed his forehead, confused.  Right.  Noodle had come to the beach, hadn’t she?  With Russel?  Right before he was swallowed by that whale.  He didn’t see any of it, of course, locked in his room with the looming threat of death hanging from the floorboards above him.  He could still hear the bullets banging against the upstairs walls.  “I meant- what have _you_ been up to?  What did you do?”

“Do?” The singer leaned back on the couch, scratching his head.  “Uh… You mean- what- what happened on Plastic Beach, yeah?”

Suddenly, there was silence, the pair staring at each other with expressions of polar opposite intensity.  2D was visibly worried; his slumped stature was far from natural, like he was trying to protect his vitals from an attack, and his eyes were bloody and twitching about restlessly.  Noodle, however, was calm.  Her expression was steady, and slowly, she shifted, facing him with increasing determination.

 _“Did_ something happen?” She asked, and 2D felt his stomach curl with sick pain.

Noodle always had the right questions.  She _had_ been noticing his ill-air, apparently; the way he shook when standing still, how he spent much more time in his room than he used to.  And she had only been there a day or two.  Super-soldier awareness at its best.   And, as usual, she approached the topic as carefully as a hostage situation.

 _Pretty accurate, actually,_ he thought.

Still, 2D hesitated.  His blank eyes drew up to gaze fleetingly at the staircase, where dull rock music could be heard from Murdoc’s studio.  Noodle seemed to follow the stare with a frown.  The poor singer didn’t even want to think of what Murdoc would do to him if he found out he had snitched.  Snitched to a band mate, as well.  Everything would all fall apart, surely, if they knew what Murdoc had done.

Noodle looked as though she had read his thoughts, and reached over to put a hand on his knee, watching carefully as he jumped and glanced over with a flushed face.  Her eyes were still shining, pulling him in, and he felt like he was far away, far away from his thoughts and the house, and far, far away from Murdoc.

“Toochie.”  She said, and he swallowed.  “Did something happen?”

He didn’t look away, because if he did it felt like he would lose himself to the void that had followed him for so many months, sucked back into the emptiness, the despair, the undying, searing sense of fear that he felt while on the beach.  2D’s hand was on hers now, squeezing, and she squeezed back, absolutely and definitely real.  There was no cyborg coldness to her, no metallic clank of her wrist when she moved it to trail her fingers on his fist.  Just a nice, familiar Noodle-ness that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like decades.

“…I was- I was in an old flat,” He started in a halting voice, and flicked his eyes, again, to the staircase.  “I, um- well, I was ‘avin’ some time to myself, after the band split up.  I just remember… wakin’ up in a suitcase.  Thought I’d been buried alive.  Turns out it was just Murdoc.  See, ‘e- he hired that Boogey Man bloke to gas me’n- brought me to Plastic Beach.”

2D saw the look in her eye shift to subtle fear, lips parted halfway.  She wanted to speak, he knew she did, but that rare expression on her face told him that she didn’t know what to say.  She surely didn’t seem to put it past Murdoc to do something like that, but there was still a certain amount of disbelief; usually, the horrible things Murdoc was capable of only affected people _outside_ their little family.  2D, however, always seemed to be an exception.

The singer swallowed, shame threatening to lower his head.  Noodle noticed and held tight to his palm, the pressure returning his courage enough to get him to breathe.

“Um… at first, I was confused, right, because I hadn’t seen’im in a while and I fought ’ed be happy to see me.  But then’e told me what he’d planned—he wanted to make a new album even though you and Russ were missin’, but ‘e couldn’t replace me.  An’ he knew I wouldn’t wanna do it without you, neither.  Said’e wasn’t gonna let me go until it was done.  Locked me up, too- there was this ‘orrible room at the bottom of the island, under the water, and’e paid this stupid whale to go ‘round the thing.  ‘E knows I hate whales.”  2D paused to shudder, reminded of the piercing eye that would often pass by his porthole like a circling vulture.  “Dunno how’e paid it.  Fish’er somthn’, prob’ly. Bloody psychological torture.  But, after that, I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

Noodle didn’t even need for him to finish to know that it would.

“’E started these… torture sessions.” 2D’s voice had dropped low, the words escaping with difficulty from a closed-up throat.  “Um, a lot of it was- ‘e was- ‘e liked to experiment on me, sort’a.  He hit me a lot more, and not cause I put ‘im off, it was just for fun.  I don’t- I can’t-” They were gasps, now, each break between words equaling a mouthful of air, “’E’d use me for his radio show, too.  One time he brought me up to introduce a song or somefink, and I tried to call for help.  He choked me with a cloth of chloroform.  I-I fought I was gonna suffocate, ‘e p- pinned me down on the-”

Before he could catch himself, 2D was crying, thick drops of salt hitting his knobby knees with frightening speed.  The grip on his palm was released, and suddenly Noodle had him in her arms, bending him down so his face was on her shoulder and he was sobbing into her shirt.  It was pathetic—a grown man, curled up halfway and crying his heart out, letting a very small yet very firm woman pat his hair and sooth him until he could breathe again.  He felt the same shame boil back up in his face and heat it pink against Noodle’s t-shirt, but she shushed him, her soft voice guiding him back down to a relative state of calmness.  2D didn’t even realize how much it hurt, thinking about it again.  Sure, his memories were far from friendly, the past few months being riddled with nightmares, but he had pulled himself together.  He’d managed to still live with Murdoc, he even _chose_ to- and yet, there he was, huddled in a wet heap on their couch at a simple mention of what happened.

“…2D.” He could finally hear her voice over his breathing and glanced up, wiping his nose on his wrist like a child.  Noodle was staring at him, eyebrows pressed together, and her eyes spoke more than she ever seemed capable of.

“…I didn’t fink I’d make it out alive.”  The singer mumbled, a tone of finality in his voice.  “I really didn’t.”

He put his head back onto her shoulder, feeling his brain throb and giving a mental groan.  He was ready to convince Noodle that he was fine and retire to his room when he felt her stiffen, and he blinked, looking up again and to see her features twisted in an odd expression.  It was rock-solid, impenetrable, but with something hot pulsating in her eyes, and it made him squirm in a bout of unexplainable anxiety. 

It was strange, seeing her like that—it reminded him too much of the cyborg, although Noodle’s eyes were far less cold and emotionless than the machine’s. 

Just as dangerous, though. 

In hopes of explanation, 2D said her name, sitting up straighter so he could look her in the face.  Noodle didn’t respond and instead stood up, turning on her heel and striding away at a startling pace toward the back of the room.  It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize where she was going, and by the time he did it was too late—yet he still lurched from the couch, hand outstretched, eyes wide and full of pure horror.

“Wait, Noods, don’t tell him-!”

But Noodle was already taking the steps two at a time, determination fueling every movement she made.  2D could only watch as she marched to the bedroom that had music spilling from the cracks on the wall, waiting as a moment of quiet overcame the loud thumping of his heart.

Then, there was a shotgun _bang_ of a door being knocked down, and Murdoc gave a piercing scream.

-

He was in his chair, in that stupid room full of fake Hawiian decorations, as _Cat Rider_ by Little Dragon played in the background.  In the middle of a radio show, it seemed.  Completely complacent.  _Bastard._

Noodle snarled at the shocked look on his face as she forced her way inside, avoiding tripping over the old clothes and piles of trash that were coating the floor of the studio.  Murdoc swung his chair to face her, looking at the large foot-shaped mark on his door with an open mouth.

“What’cha bang down the bloody door for?!”  He tried to act angry, but Noodle was quick to extinguish it as she charged for him with outstretched hands.  They connected with the sides of his neck and then Murdoc was on the floor, hurled over her shoulder and slammed back-first into the opposite wall.  Noodle picked up the tacky hula girl on his desk and chucked it at him, watching it collide with his ribcage and produce a surprising, yet satisfying yelp. 

She was furious.  Noodle rarely felt anything beyond strong anger or contempt, but this time she was _seething_ as she looked at the face of the man that had locked up 2D like a circus attraction.  Her shirt was still wet from where he was crying into it, tortured with God-knew how many stories he wasn’t willing to share.  Murdoc had crossed a line—no, he had _jump roped_ with it, and then used it to strangle her friend until his face was as blue as his hair—and this time, Noodle would make sure he never got a chance again.

Instead of killing Murdoc straight out, Noodle elected to turn her feelings toward his studio set up, reaching for the microphone and lobbing it at the window so hard she heard the stand crack.  She smashed the empty beer bottles one by one, swiping her arm across the desk to rid it of all its other contents until she whipped back around when she found nothing else to break.  Murdoc looked up with glazed eyes, watching as the guitarist turned and advanced on him, and tried to struggle away with definite fear now lacing his expression.  Noodle saw him and moved quicker, darting forward in time to catch him by the crook of the arm.  He found himself shoved against the wall again, this time taking punch after punch from the woman’s hand, crying out as if shocked at how much it hurt.  It was cathartic—out of all the years they had known each other, Noodle had never once snapped at him.  She had felt it was too immature, too like the bassist himself, to go around threatening violence to everyone provoked her.

However, now that it was _her_ fist was slamming against _his_ cheekbone and feeling it crack under her knuckles, she could finally see the appeal.

His face was getting more discolored as the attack went on, and it was like he couldn’t fight back, like his hands were glued to the wall they were pressed against.  He was a man of action and reaction most of the time, but even _he_ had a soft spot for the youngest member of the group.  Whether it was because she was the only woman in the house or the fact that he had seen her grow from the little girl in the fed-ex crate, he had never lifted a finger to her.  So now, as she beat him until blood was spluttering from his mouth, it seemed stopping her was out of the question.

“Noodle-” He only tried it once, a plea that was cut off by a slap to an already bruised jaw.  Her eyes were colder than arctic and staring directly into his, further quelling any attempt to persuade her to stop as she tossed him away and delivered a kick onto his overhanging gut.  Murdoc teetered, rested a hand on his desk, and looked up at Noodle in front of him, stood with clenched fist and a deeply heaving chest.  His eyes were blank—even the red one had its fiery iris flicking in confusion.  He looked at her, wheezing, watching her rub her knuckles and stare at the stained carpet of his room.

“…Are you done?”  He asked, and she looked up, her jaw clenched so hard it trembled. “I know I’m due a beating, love, but usually they let me know for what reason before they start kicking my teeth in.”

There was a hint of arrogance that crept back to his voice, a subtle drawl and a cock of his brow, that sent her racing back up to him and forcing him out the bedroom with the heel of her boot.   The corridor was thin, so it didn’t take him long to smack his face against the wall and groan.  Noodle turned him around properly and saw his face droop, muscles twitching in pain.  Her forearm was pressed against his throat, pinning him, watching his eyes widen when their noses nearly touched.  His knees buckled because he was so much taller than her, forced down to her level in an act of power.

Noodle didn’t yell, normally; her voice was as soft as a flower petal sometimes.  And others, it was as sharp as a viper’s hiss. 

“The next time you hurt him,” Noodle whispered, eyes narrowed to slits, “you will answer to _me_.”

Murdoc’s brows furrowed a little, and his eyes flicked to the side, staring until Noodle had to stare too. 

2D was still on the couch, petrified, eyes puffy and locked directly on the pair by the stairs.  His mouth was open a bit, looking in what seemed to be awe as Noodle choked the bassist with her arm in obvious expectation.  Murdoc winced and stared back at her, deciding to keep his last shred of dignity by giving a short nod and lowering his eyes to the ground.  Satisfied, Noodle stepped back and watched him blunder his way back toward the studio, rubbing sore cheeks and touching at bruised skin.  Though she didn’t look long, Noodle would spend days silently swearing she saw something like regret shining in his eyes,

She heaved a quiet sigh and made her way down the stairs, deliberately not looking at the man on the couch until the last step was behind her.  He was still gawping at her when she did, and she couldn’t help but smile, moving to his side to affectionately ruffle his hair.

“Lunch?”  She said, glancing at a half-broken clock on the wall.  “We can bring Russel back something.”

A moment passed where he seemed unable to respond properly, still in shock at seeing tiny Noodle take on Murdoc head-on.  Noodle waited until he blinked and his head cleared, and then he smiled, that big, goofy smile so full of warmth it made her chest swell.  2D stood up, still grinning, and slid his arm around her neck to pull her close.

“Yeah, alright.”  He said, and laughing, Noodle took the lead, walking him swiftly out of the living room and into the street.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first posted fanfic, so if you enjoyed, feedback would be appreciated!  
> I realize while proof-reading this that it could be interpreted as 2nu, but I'll say here that in no way was that intended. Just good old-fashioned sibling love :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russel's the last to know.
> 
> (Feat. I Still Don't Know How To Write Noodle)

“He did _what?”_

Noodle was on Russel’s shoulder, the pair of them propped up against a tree in the backyard.  Night had settled in, and the stars were casting a dull light on the two of them, making Russel’s disbelieving expression look shadowed and distorted.

It’d been two days since she knew. She had taken 2D out for lunch and didn’t come back until passed midnight, 2D drunk and giggling while Noodle escorted him safely to bed. It was late, but still, she couldn’t get to sleep.

All she could see was herself, tearful and shaking in a distant laboratory.

_Torture._

It was hard thinking of a way to tell Russel. She knew that she had to, because 2D wouldn’t, and she didn’t want to put him through the stress of reliving it again. But the question was, how? How could she relay something so horrible, so tense and gut-churning that just glancing at the distant expression on 2D’s face made her feel like she was going to be sick?

It was only when she remembered that 2D had already done it once did she realize that she had no excuse at all.

Still, she had waited until nightfall, when the two boys in the house were already holed up in their rooms and the chances of detection were slim. It was easier to creep out of the house unnoticed than risk having to explain where she was off to, and soon she was tapping on Russel’s over-sized kneecap, gripping onto his thumb as she was lifted like a feather up to his ear.

Through all of her steel-strung nerves and practiced poker face, it was still difficult to see Russel’s expression shift from confusion to disgust.  The worst details she kept to herself—they weren’t hers to tell, after all—but what she did say seemed to be enough, leaving them both struck dumb with despair.

Russel stared into the night sky in silence, listening to the air beat against the trees and whistle through the distant branches.

“I don’t believe it.” He said, low and murmured so the wind almost carried it away.

That was a lie; he _did_ believe it. He just _really_ wished that he didn’t.

If he analyzed it, if he thought about every fucked-up moment concerning the train wreck that was Murdoc Niccals, yes, he absolutely, positively believed it.  Kidnapping and torture were par for the course, as far as Murdoc was concerned.

But that didn’t make it any less revolting to think about.

2D and Murdoc had never been friends. In the beginning 2D idolized him, sure, but Murdoc didn’t seem to have a scrap of love for the little boy with the big black eyes. He was more of a well-trained pet to him than a band mate, and then came the Paula fiasco, which really started to brew some tension between the two. More often than not, 2D just brushed the bad feelings aside for the sake of the band, or simply because he didn’t think he had any other choice.

Demon Days wasn’t much better. After the break 2D seemed to have regained some of his confidence as he “embraced the Rockstar lifestyle” as Murdoc would say.  But he still seemed to bend to Murdoc’s will just as often as before.

Maybe with a few more comebacks, but more cuts and bruises as well.

And then there was Murdoc, as constant as the stink of an unwashed outhouse. If anything, his arrogance and lust for power only grew during their rising success. Nearing the El Mañana incident, Russel had started to notice how Murdoc began to edge himself off the cliff, slowly unraveling before him like a tattered jumper with its string caught in a windmill.

Murdoc started to drink more, downing bottles of old whiskey and stomping around sets looking for something to criticize. He would lock himself in that rusty Winnebago for days doing God-knew-what, and Russel, damn him, was content on keeping it that way.  They _had_ nearly been killed a few times, after all.  He thought it was just his way of trying to cope.

But then, Jimmy Manson died, and it was like he _snapped_.

Murdoc was calm during the video shoot, watching the island crash and burn into the ground in a smoldering pile of flames.  He didn't blink an eye while Russel and 2D were screaming, but Russel figured what really pushed him was when the news hit that Noodle still hadn't been found.  It was like Russel could see him falling, then, watching him take pose and jump off the cliff every time he caught that look in his eyes.

But even so, Russel would have never, ever, expected Plastic Beach.

It did make sense, though, when he got to talk to 2D for the first time in years.  Russel figured he was so sick-looking because of all those weeks spent living inside a whale, and he did his best not to ask about it in case he’d reopen old wounds.  But now, 2D’s distant shakes and overwhelming silence held a different meaning, and Russel wondered, vaguely, how long he would have kept it all to himself.

Russel felt guilty about it, unsurprisingly. He had always considered 2D a brother, a lost soul, and he knew that in some ways 2D looked up to him as well. It didn’t help that half the time Russel was on his own rants and ravings while the other half was spent staring into space, unable to focus on anything, let alone his friends.

But now wasn’t the time for guilt. Now, they had to plan.

Russel turned his head and stared at the tiny toothpick that was Noodle on his shoulder, her eyes soft and watching smoke plume from chimneys in the distance. 

“So.” He said, and watched her head turn to him. “Where do we go from here?”

Noodle sighed and ran her hands through her hair, short and choppy from her days out at sea. She’d grown up so well, Russel thought. It was nice to see her outsides finally match the in.

“I don’t know.” She said with a tone that made Russel’s heart hurt. “I… don’t know what to do.”

“Should we leave? We don’t have to stay with him.  Pack up whatever we have left and take 2D with us. Start our own damn band, to hell with him.”

 Noodle’s shoulder’s stiffened, and Russel quirked a brow. “What? You don’t wanna?”

“I don’t know.” Noodle swung her legs from her perch and looked back out to the stars. “When I think about leaving… It doesn’t… feel right.  Like… there’s something tying us to this place. Something that we can't just walk away from.”

Russel frowned. “To this place,” he said softly, “or to each other?”

There was a pause, and slowly, Noodle nodded, the two staring away and letting the discontent they felt entrap the air.

It was funny; he’d felt it, too.  He knew there had to be a reason that the band hadn’t broke up yet, but for the longest time, he couldn’t tell what it was. After some years Russel had settled on the music, the one thing that they all had vaguely in common, but in the back of his mind he knew that something else must have been at work.

After all, this was the first time he had ever even thought about leaving permanently in the fourteen years they had spent together.

 “So, we don’t leave.” Russel said. “Something’s gotta be done.  We can’t let him get away with this, Noods, I just don’t know what we should do.  We can’t let something this majorly fucked up just walk by without doin’ nothing about it.”

“I know.” Noodle’s voice was soft, but the intensity twisted within the words was so heavy Russel felt himself sag. “He will pay for what he’s done.  In time.”

Russel went quiet and listened to the wind in the trees.

“You and Murdoc talk at all?” Russel said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“A little.” Noodle pursed her lips. “I lost my temper.”

Russel’s eyebrow cocked again. “’Lost your temper?’ You mean you fought?”

“Less fighting,” she said, “more hitting. I didn’t give him much of a chance to fight back.”

Russel sat up a bit straighter, heaving a slow, gravely sigh. “Break his nose again?”

“And a few ribs.  I said that if he touched him again, he’d answer to me.” Noodle stood, balancing perfectly on the oversized shoulder. “Was that wrong?”

Russel gave a great shake of the head, and for the first time that night, allowed himself a smile. “Nah, baby. He’s got worse coming to him.”

Noodle nodded again, pleased, and walked over so she could pat her hand against Russel’s cheek. “I think speaking to him is a good idea.  I can hardly look at him right now, but maybe you can.”

Russel stuck out his hand and Noodle hopped on it, squeezing his thumb as he lowered her back onto the ground.

“I’m on it.” Russel winked, watching her disappear back into the house, and slowly, he turned, glancing at the lit-up window into Murdoc’s studio.

-

Murdoc lit a cigarette.

The quarter bottle of rum on his desk stood as a testament to the day so far—that morning, it had been full, and so had the empty bottle beside it.  Both were surrounded by scrunched up paper and smothered joint butts, giving the room the smell of a teenage Rockstar with a pension for back alley deals.

Murdoc had his legs balanced on the edge of his desk, arms hung by his sides and back slumped in his chair like a pouting kid. The silence in the room was thick and pervasive, only interspersed with the dull throbbing of the muscles in his face. Noodle’s reminder had stuck with him, it seemed, and even a full day later his eye was still swollen shut, dried blood he hadn’t bothered to clean sticking to the underside of his crooked nose.

It had been a while since the nights were so quiet. Usually, he had his music cranked up to its loudest volume, drowning out more than the idle chatter of his flatmates.  This time, though, he didn’t feel the need.  For once he let his mind wander, aided by the booze and soft rustling of the trees, to things he didn’t dare think of during daylight hours.

And he knew there was so much to think about.

Murdoc let his eyes glaze over to the cardboard hula girl he had propped up in the corner of his room, fully aware of how pathetic looking at it made him feel.  All of the cheap Hawaiian décor sounded like a good idea at the time; one beach to the next, further onto white sand and clear waters instead of floating heaps of junk.  Now, looking at it just made him more depressed. Tacky. Cheap. Just like him.

He watched a puff of smoke escape through his nostrils and coalesce into a cloud, floating soundlessly until it hit the ceiling and dispersed.  His head lolled back, shifting to look out the window to try and catch the glimmering starlight that so often lit the left half of his wall.

What he saw instead was a giant, white, bloody-great eyeball, somehow still turned in his direction and giving him a malicious glare.

Murdoc shrieked, fumbling and falling right out of his cheap office spinning chair.  A low chuckle that rumbled the walls was heard, and the eye watched as Murdoc got up with a grumble and shot it a venomous look.

“-Sweet bloody Satan, Russ, you trying to make me brown myself or something?” He said, thrusting himself back in his chair and swiveling enough to face him. “Next time gimmie a warning or I might fling something in that Colossus eye of yours.”

“Throw somethin’ at me and I’ll pop your head off with my thumb, Muds.”  Russel’s jovial demeanor switched the moment he spoke, and his words came off coldly, letting a little more of his face show through the window. “I wanna to talk to you.”

“ _Talk_ to me?”  Murdoc scratched a bruise on the side of his face. “’Bout bloody time, I think. We hardly spoke a word since you got here, bein’ stuck as an oversized lawn gnome now and everything.”

“I talked to Noodle.” Russel said.

Murdoc’s arm dropped. “Oh.”

There was a long, cold, heavy stretch of silence as the words solidified themselves inside Murdoc’s head. He angled his face downward and slowly turned to his desk again, picking up a new cigarette and lighting it between his lips.

“She told me everything.” Russel was staring right at him, but Murdoc didn’t meet his eye. “The Beach. Before that. Everything.  Man, just- what the fuck is wrong with you, man?”

Murdoc gave a dry laugh, hardly more than a croak in his throat. “You’re not the first to ask that one, Russ.”

“This ain’t a fucking joke, Murdoc, this is some twisted shit.” Even though his voice was hushed, Russel’s mass made it boom through the tiny homemade studio, loud enough for it to rattle around Murdoc’s brain and make his hands squeeze the arms of his chair. “Seriously, man? I knew you were fucked in the head, but I never would have guessed you’d do somethin’ like this. Somethin’ this foul, downright _deranged_.  This was worse than everything you did to him back at Kong. This is worse than what you did on the day you _met_ him.  I don’t even know why I didn’t expect it, you crazy, sick-in-the-head motherfucker.  Maybe part of me hoped there was still a shred of humanity left in you. Guess I should’a forgotten about hat a long time ago.”

Russel paused, as if waiting for Murdoc to respond. The bassist’s head was hung between his shoulders, staring blankly at the chipped wood of his desk in silence.

“It’s fucked up, Murdoc.” Russel said, this time softer, but no less tinted in disgust. “It’s fucked up and wrong and downright evil.”

There was a twitch, and a smirk curled along Murdoc’s lip. “Ain’t that what I am, Russ?” He asked, hoarse and defeated. “Evil?”

“Don’t come in here with your self-deprecating shit, man, that ain’t no excuse.” Russel let his voice pick up again, a heated energy filling it until he saw Murdoc curl inward and laugh.

“I know.” He said, and stared at the wall with an empty smile, hand holding his over-gelled bangs away from his face. “I’m well-fucking-aware.”

He didn’t move for a while, watching Russel’s steel gaze out of the corner of his eye, and then turned, head half-cocked and eyes sunken and dry. “Are you leaving, then?”

Russel’s massive face contracted. “What?”

“The band.” Murdoc crossed his legs with a grunt. “Are you leaving the band? You and Noodle, and 2D? Is it over, now? Are we done? I figured that’s the next logical jump one would make when confronted with a situation like this. Don’t think anyone would particularly blame you, either. I wouldn’t.”

The question seemed to surprise the giant, and he paused, turning his head away from the window and staring into the damp grass of the backyard. 

“…No.”

Murdoc’s eyebrows rose so high that they nearly blended in with his hairline, but Russel didn’t give him a chance to talk back. He faced him so that his head filled up the entire window, fixing him with a stare so intense it felt like it was cutting straight into his soul.

“We’re soulmates, Muds. And I don’t mean in a romantic sense. I felt it ever since we broke up in 2002.  It’s like… we’re tied to each other, all of us, tied with somethin’ so strong nothing can break it.  We’ve left before, gone our separate ways for a few months or years but we always come back together.  Every time I left, even if I was borderline catatonic, I still felt the universe calling out to me.  Like a part of me was missing without the rest of the band around me.  I don’t know why, but the universe wants us to stay together.”

He gazed off into the starry sky and Murdoc looked, too, watching a distant fleck of light twinkle between stacks of moving smoke.

“We ain’t in the band anymore.  We _are_ the band. And no matter what, we’re gonna stay that way, whether we want to or not.”

Murdoc felt like an elephant was lifted off his chest, and he finally could breathe again, leaning back in his chair and balancing his foot on his knee.  Russel, noting his more relaxed posture, turned back to him quick, his frown deep and stern. 

“Don’t start getting’ comfortable again. Things are gonna change, Murdoc, me and Noodle’ll make sure of that.  You ain’t gonna treat 2D like that anymore, alright? You ain’t even gonna look at him without supervision.  If I see another bruise on his body, I’ll pluck you out of your bedroom through the window and make you wish you died on that beach.  You dig?”

Murdoc tensed again and gave a short nod in response.  Russel squinted at him, appeased but no happier than before.

“We ain’t looking for a change overnight.” He continued, shifting his massive body into a more comfortable position. “But we _are_ looking for one. Hole yourself in your room for a month if you have to, whatever it takes; now, he’s gotta heal.  And you ain’t gonna be a part of his life until he does.  We understand each other?”

This time, Murdoc looked oddly conflicted, his body strained and shifting with a sour look on his face.  He squirmed under Russel’s gaze until his nerves seemed to give, and then nodded, pressing a hand to his forehead and staring at his desk again.

“Alright.” Russel sat back a bit and watched the little green man fiddle with his joint again.  “That’s all I got. You should get to bed, Muds, you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Try four.” Murdoc mumbled back, glancing at Russel with his red eye. “Can I trust that I won’t wake up with a que-ball staring at me through my window tomorrow morning?”

Russel gave a dry laugh.  “Sure. I’ll be an inch shorter by then, anyway.  So you better be ready, Murdoc, ‘cause the minute this giganto-toxin gets outta my body, you’re getting the beating of a lifetime.”

There was a sharp exhale, Murdoc’s crooked smile returning to his sunken and exhausted face. “Cheers, Russ. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the long absence, life happened a LOT in the past few months. This little extension was requested by Anonymouse in the comments section of the first chapter! Thank you for the idea and the support, and I hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first posted fanfic, so if you enjoyed, feedback would be appreciated!  
> I realize while proof-reading this that it could be interpreted as 2nu, but I'll say here that in no way was that intended. Just good old-fashioned sibling love :)


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